


and i can go anywhere i want (just not home)

by wolfchester



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Takes place at the beginning of season 2, Whump, and this is how the ones left behind deal with it, jj is living at the heywards but it gets to be too much, john b and sarah are presumed dead, pope and kie love him so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfchester/pseuds/wolfchester
Summary: in an attempt to deal with his grief over john b’s ‘death’, jj disappears into the wilderness. when he doesn’t return to the outer banks for days, pope and kie go to find him.
Relationships: JJ & Kiara & Pope (Outer Banks), Kiara/Pope (Outer Banks), a lil bit of - Relationship, bc they're canon and this is a beginning-of-season-2 fic, but this is not shippy, just friendship love galore
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31





	and i can go anywhere i want (just not home)

**Author's Note:**

> i took a break from 'spinning in circles' and jiara this weekend to write this: something that has been swimming around in my mind for a while now.
> 
> i listened to way too much sad music while writing this (mostly folklore), esp. the songs (lyrics below) 'my tears ricochet' (fic title) and 'seven' by t swift, as well as 'new sublet' by runnner. ugh i love angsty music about growing up and getting olderrrrr
> 
> anyway this is not a shippy fic but does take place in "canon", so there's some popekie. i lowkey actually love their relationship and i hope i did them justice. most of this is just pope and kie loving on jj while he learns to love himself and grieve the loss of john b.......god i'm sad
> 
> enjoy xoxo

**_'seven' - taylor swift_ **

_and I’ve been meaning to tell you_

_I think your house is haunted_

_your dad is always mad and that must be why_

_and I think you should come live with me_

_and we can be pirates_

_please picture me in the weeds_

_before I learned civility_

_I used to scream ferociously_

_any time I wanted_

* * *

  
  


_**'new sublet' - runnner** _

_always repeating_

_cutting my teeth on Atlantic beaches gone_

_unsteady reaching_

_watching my friends leave town_

_providence fleeting out_

_when did it get so loud?_

_you’re just getting addicted to starting all over again_

* * *

John B dies.

JJ dies, too.

Not physically, of course. It wasn’t him who was with the gold-mad boy on the Phantom driving straight into a storm. It’s not him who’s lying at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean right now. It’s not him who will never smile again, never laugh again, never breathe life into his lungs.

But it may as well be.

JJ moves in with the Heywards the morning after John B and Sarah’s disappearance. (Or death. Whatever you want to call it. The police say the two of them are _missing, presumed dead_.) Pope’s parents are kind to him — kinder than they have been in the past. Maybe now they finally feel sympathetic. Finally understand why JJ is the way that he is.

(His dad never calls. JJ is glad for it. He does not miss him.)

After three weeks of living with Pope, the sickly-sweet kindness the Heywards show him begins to grate on his nerves. 

Not because he doesn’t appreciate it, per se. No — waking up to eggs and bacon on Saturday mornings and sharing a room with his best friend is the best. But it hurts a little, because JJ feels like he doesn’t deserve it.

Plus, it all just reminds him that he doesn’t have any family now. His dad is as good as gone; Big John, his surrogate father for most of middle school, is gone too; and now John B, his brother-in-arms, has left him.

 _Missing, presumed dead._ JJ tries to have faith that a rescue could still happen. He really does. But that kind of statement doesn’t exactly inspire much hope, does it?

One Sunday night, while laying on the mattress on the floor of Pope’s bedroom, JJ stares blankly at the ceiling and makes a decision: he’s leaving. He has to get away from here, where everyone is too nice and the smiles are too falsely-bright and whenever he looks at Pope he can’t help but feel like crying, because Pope’s trying so hard to hold it all together and it’s almost working, but just not quite. He can’t stay another Monday in this house or in this town.

He has to get out. Even just for a little while.

Quietly, while the rest of the household still sleeps, JJ dresses in his favourite pair of shorts (a old pair of John B’s), a Kildare County High track team t-shirt, and a hoodie (one of Pope’s hand-me-downs), slips on his worn-out Vans, and grabs his wallet and the keys to his bike.

JJ contemplates leaving a note explaining where he’s gone, but honestly, _he’s_ not even sure where he’s headed, so how can he tell Pope where to find him?

Besides, he won’t be gone that long. They won’t even notice his absence long enough to miss him.

* * *

“Mom? Have you seen JJ this morning?”

Mrs Heyward shakes her head and purses her lips. “No, I haven’t, sorry, son. Maybe he went for a walk.”

“Yeah. Probably.” Pope trudges down the stairs and cracks his knuckles (even though he knows his mom hates the noise) in the hope that relieving some of the pressure in his joints might loosen the sinking feeling in his gut. His mom has set out four places at the table for breakfast. Pope feels sick as he sits down.

It’s not that it’s weird for JJ to go off on his own sometimes. Usually, though, he at least lets one of them know.

Pope knows, deep down, that JJ’s not just _on a walk._ He saw how JJ’s bed was made up this morning — carefully, intentionally — and how all of the clothes Pope had lent JJ over the past month (JJ had left most of his clothes back at Luke’s house, and there was _no_ fucking way Mama Heyward was gonna let him go back there to collect them) were neatly folded and stacked on top of the NASA-themed duvet cover. He knew what that meant: it was a near as a ‘goodbye letter’ as Pope could hope to get from his friend.

JJ was gone. _Really_ gone. Not forever, but certainly for longer than just the morning.

Pope doesn’t want to worry his mom, because she’s been worrying enough for everyone lately (and he feels bad for how huge a part he’s had to play in that), so he doesn’t say anything more about JJ over breakfast.

He does, however, send Kie a text later that morning.

 **_pope / 11:34 am:_ ** _jj’s gone. i don’t know where; he didn’t say. i don’t think it’s anything serious, but i thought you should know._

She replies within two minutes.

 **_kiara / 11:36 am:_ ** _jj’s fucking WHAT?!_

* * *

JJ is pleasantly surprised at the amount of money he has in his wallet — two crisp hundred dollar bills and a handful of change. He tries to remember where on earth he got all that cash and then— oh, yup, he stole it from his dad that afternoon before they waved off John B and Sarah at the docks.

The last time he ever saw them.

_(Fuck.)_

He buys a Butterfinger after filling up the tank on his bike at a gas station on the edge of town. He doesn’t know why he buys that particular chocolate bar, because he’s more of a Snickers guy himself, and he doesn’t like the way the peanut brittle gets stuck in his teeth. 

(That it is — _was_ — John B’s favourite might have something to do with it.)

JJ shoves the bar into his sweatshirt pocket to eat later, gets back on his bike, and drives.

He drives and drives and drives: along the highway out of town, through green lights and yellow lights and even a few red, further and further until he stops recognising the names on street signs. Hours go by, but he doesn’t stop for anything. 

Until it starts to get later in the day, and his stomach starts growling, and it’s not the kind of growling that could be quieted by just a Butterfinger. JJ pulls over at a McDonald’s in a town whose name he does not know and buys a burger and fries. He eats alone in a booth seat and avoids any strange looks that come his way.

Sitting there in that restaurant, teeth coated with that filmy, grubby feeling that comes after eating fast food, JJ mulls over his next steps.

What comes next? Where will he sleep? Where will he go? He has to admit to himself that he hadn’t really thought this far ahead when he left the Heywards that morning. He just knew that he couldn’t stay another minute. Couldn’t stomach everyone’s pitying eyes or Pope’s soft _hey, man, are you okay?_ for one more second.

It’s not their fault. JJ knows this. _Really._ It’s just...it’s hard not to feel bitter when Pope’s still got his parents and Kie’s still got hers, while everything and everyone JJ used to call home is gone for good.

He knows he could never go back to his father’s. So what’s he supposed to do? Live with the Heywards forever? He’s pretty sure Mr Heyward likes him better now than he used to, but JJ’s still the one friend who always got Pope in trouble. His patience is bound to wear out sooner rather than later.

JJ supposes he could live on his own at the Chateau. Take John B’s room or something. It’s not like he’s unfamiliar with living alone — his dad had been so emotionally absent and so fucking drunk most of JJ’s life that he’s always kind of felt like he’s lived by himself. Doesn’t matter that it’s not in the physical sense. But, hey, how hard could it be? He could make his own food — burgers for breakfast, thank you very much. No one can tell him off for drinking too early in the day, or for smoking inside the house. He’ll get a job somewhere in town. Maybe old Moe Robbins at the mechanics on East Street could hook him up with something part-time. 

But then again, John B didn’t even own the shack, right? It’s his uncle’s. What if Mr Uncle comes back to claim the house after hearing that his nephew and his brother are both dead? Then JJ will be out on his ass once again. And he honestly doesn’t know if he could do being homeless more than once. It already fucking sucks.

Frustrated already, JJ rubs a tired hand over his face and stands up to leave. This time out on his own, just him and the bike, will be good for him, he thinks. A few days out of the Banks will help him get his head on straight. 

He’s still got all that cash in his wallet. He can afford to stay at an inn around here for a few days, do some exploring on his bike and all that shit. It looks like a nice enough town that he’s in. And most importantly, it’s far enough away from the Banks that no one will find him.

Not that they’re probably even _looking_ for him, anyway.

JJ heads back out to his bike, straps his helmet on, and rides off down the street in search of a sign directing him to a nearby beach. 

He takes a lot of left turns and wrong turns around roundabouts, until he finds the entrance to a dirt road with a homemade sign that points him in the direction of one _Turtle Beach._ The road is long and winding and full of potholes, but JJ gets to the beach eventually.

And there it is. The ocean. Just what he needs.

It’s starting to get dark. The wind is picking up, although the air and the sand are still warm. JJ should probably be back in town looking for a place to crash for the night, but the sea is calling to him, and he can’t resist.

He leaves his bike in a bush, although the beach is deserted and it’s unlikely anyone will be out here looking to steal a beat-up old dirt bike. Barefoot, he walks down to the edge of the shoreline and dips his toes in the cold water.

This is the same water John B and Sarah drowned in. That thought makes him sick to his stomach. And then, as he thinks of the callousness and recklessness of John B driving out into the storm like that, having no regard for his own life or for Sarah’s life like that, JJ gets very, very angry.

“Why’d you have to go, man?” JJ yells into the wind. “Why didn’t you stop and turn around? It was suicide! You knew it was suicide!” Tears prick at his eyes and trickle down his cheeks, salty and hot. He keeps screaming. “We could have explained everything! You didn’t have to—“ _You didn’t have to go. You didn’t have to leave us. Leave_ me. 

JJ legs give out and he collapses down onto the wet sand, wrapping his arms protectively around his knees and pressing his forehead to the back of his hand. He takes three deep breaths in and out, trying to calm himself down. Just like how Kie taught him. _You gotta know when to fight back and when to walk away,_ she’d said to him once after he tried to get in a fight with a Kook at a Boneyard party a year or two ago. _You’ve got to learn how to breathe deep._

Well, he’s breathing deep, but it’s not fucking helping flush out all the grief that sticks like a thousand knives in his chest. No, those don’t feel like they’ll _ever_ fucking move.

After a long time, JJ raises his head and looks out to the rolling waves in front of him. “Fuck you, John B,” he whispers to the sea, gritting his teeth against the pain. “Fuck you, man.” _Fuck you for leaving me here. Fuck you for disappearing and not saying goodbye. Fuck you for forcing me to live without you._

_Fuck you for making me love you. Fuck you for making me care. Fuck you fuck you fuck you I miss you I miss you I—_

JJ tips his head back, looks up at the stars, and roars.

* * *

Kiara calls Pope approximately thirty seconds after she’d sent her reply to his original text. He’s chilling in his room, trying to locate JJ on SnapMaps (he’s got them turned off, evidently, because nothing comes up), when the call comes in.

“Hey, Kie,” Pope starts tentatively, bracing himself for impact.

“What’s going on?” Kie asks fiercely, without introduction.

Pope sighs. “JJ’s gone,” he mumbles, too tired from the stress of the morning already to fight back.

Kie barges ahead. “He’s _what?!”_

“He’s gone.”

“For how long?” she demands.

Pope tucks an arm behind his head and sinks down into the pillows on his bed. “Since this morning,” he answers, looking across at the neat stack of clothes on JJ’s bed. “He’s probably just doing a JJ thing—”

“Yeah, alright, but have you considered that he’s a fucking _liability?_ ” comes Kie’s acidic reply. Pope knew she’d be angry (because of course she would) but he still doesn’t like being yelled at. Especially by the girl he’s...dating? Has a thing with? Kissed a few times? It’s not a nice feeling, that’s for sure. Her voice continues to scream at him down the line, and Pope has to remind himself that she’s not mad at _him_ , or even mad at JJ. She’s mad at the whole damn situation. He gets it. He knows. He’s been in denial that John B and Sarah might actually be dead since the night they went missing. Over the past three weeks, Pope has come to know that sticky, messy kind of grief-without-closure as familiar. He _gets_ it. And so he listens to Kie yell, because he knows she’s just worried. “He shouldn’t be allowed to be by himself. He shouldn’t be allowed to _run away_ , Pope! He’s been in danger of going completely _off the fucking rails_ since— since Sarah and JB—” Kie’s voice cracks with emotion, and Pope knows it’s time to intervene.

“Yes, I’m aware of that, Kie,” he says softly yet firmly. “You think I’m not worried about him? But I also know that JJ can handle himself. He probably just needed some time away. I think home was getting a little much for him,” Pope finishes in a quiet voice.

And he doesn’t have to say anything more, because it seems like Kie gets the message.

She sighs, a deep one that sounds like she’s compressing all of the air out of her lungs, and says, “You’re right.”

They’re both silent on the line for a long moment. Just listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. It’s comforting. Pope likes being able to be still with Kie. They ground each other.

And now, in the midst of all this turmoil, Pope knows he needs Kie to anchor him more than ever.

He won’t say anything to her right now, because it’s good if at least one of them is thinking rationally, but he’s as worried about JJ as she is. Because JJ isn’t _like_ them — and not just in the literal sense in that he doesn’t have the kind of parents that Pope and Kie do, but something so much deeper. There’s something different in JJ’s bones, in the blood that flows through his veins and burns hot in his hands. A kind of danger. A wildness. A recklessness. And with that, an intense fragility.

Pope has always wanted so badly to make JJ feel like he belongs. But what if that’s an impossible task? What if it’s better to let JJ decide what he wants to do, and where he goes, and with whom he feels at home? Perhaps it’s better to let him go like this, to find his own way. Even just for a little while. And then maybe — _hopefully —_ JJ will find his way back to them.

Kie comes over later that night, after it’s been eight hours and JJ still hasn’t called either of them to let them know that he’s safe. Pope’s mom, wanting something to do with all her nervous, worried energy, makes them rich hot cocoa with real chocolate and marshmallows and cream. 

They drink it on the couch, legs intertwined under a blanket. Pope’s parents leave them be. (They trust him with Kie, which is a blessing.)

“We’re gonna go looking for him if he’s not home by Saturday,” Kie says after they’ve drained their mugs.

He smiles and replies, cautiously, “Okay.”

Saturday is a stretch. He knows Kie will be getting antsy to start the search party by tomorrow morning, but that’s okay. Pope understands.

He always does.

* * *

It’s day five — or is it six? — and JJ’s starting to run low on money. And fuel. 

He’s been hopping from motel to motel for the past four nights, excluding the first night he spent curled up under a tree at Turtle Beach. It was so fucking cold that night that he decided in the morning he was putting the stolen money to good use and sleeping in a real bed the next day.

Which is great, but accommodation is expensive, even if he’s staying in literal crapholes in rooms that would be black-light nightmares. And now he’s down to his last couple of twenties.

Sitting in the sand on another beach somewhere close to the border of South Carolina, JJ thinks seriously about calling Pope or Kie and asking them to come pick him up. He’s almost out of gas and doesn’t have enough to pay for a whole new tank _plus_ a good meal for his dinner and a place to sleep, which means he certainly won’t have enough cash to last him a seventh day.

It may be time to call this whole operation to a close. 

His stomach growls for the thirtieth time that day. JJ reaches into his sweatshirt pocket and rifles around for the packet of potato chips he was pretty sure he had stuffed in there at some point.

Instead, he finds the Butterfinger. 

His fingers close over the flimsy yellow wrapper and he tugs it out of the pocket, holding it up to the sunlight. It’s smushed and crinkled and part of the wrapper has been torn off by being jostled around in his pocket over the past week, but, hey, it’s food.

JJ unwraps it and takes a bite. Peanut butter brittle sticks immediately to the roof of his mouth and the back of his teeth in the way that he so hates, but instead of getting annoyed, JJ just smiles as he eats. The taste and the smell remind him of John B so much. John B would get this chocolate every time they passed the corner store near the Routledge’s place after school, and _every time_ he’d offer JJ a bite, even though JJ had said multiple times he wasn’t a fan of peanut butter. That didn’t stop John B from trying. The boy was always too generous for his own good. Always wanting to help others. 

And look where that got him.

It’s a small thing, this Butterfinger. A tiny, tiny thing. But it cracks open that deep wound in JJ’s chest that blossomed the night he lost his brother, and the wound bleeds and bleeds and bleeds.

He begins to cry.

 _Tomorrow,_ he promises himself. _I’ll call tomorrow._

* * *

Kie shows up on the Heywards’ doorstep at eight in the morning that Saturday. She’s dressed for war in her leggings, baggy sweater and signature headband, a bulging backpack slung over her shoulder. Her jaw is set in a determined line. 

“I said we’d wait ‘til Saturday. Well, it’s Saturday,” Kie says as soon as Pope answers the door. He bites back a grin. Kie’s never been one for pleasantries. It’s what he likes about her. “I’m going to go look for him. Are you coming?”

“Of course I’m coming. But Kie, I’m _sure_ he’s fine,” Pope says, not because he really believes it, but because one of them has got to be calm right now, and it’s sure as hell not gonna be Kie.

She folds her arms across her chest and stares across at him, gaze unwavering. “We always say that about him, though, don’t we, Pope? _It’s JJ. He’ll be fine. He’ll pull through. He’s tough,”_ Kie says, brown eyes blazing orange. “But this is different. It’s— we can’t just leave him. We’re all he has.”

“I know. I _know_. He’s my best friend too,” he reasons. “But I still think we should—“

“How are you so chill about this?” Kie interjects, scrunching her nose into a look of disgust and shaking her head at him. “In fact, how have you been so chill about _any_ of this?” She’s getting louder and louder, and he can see a storm building on her face. Pope can also see the fear in her shaking hands, in the eyes glistening with anger and frustration. “Look, just because you’re okay with pretending like it’s totally normal that Sarah and John B are _lying at the bottom of the fucking Atlantic Ocean_ does not mean that _I_ am, Pope!”

“Woah, _hey!”_ he hisses, stepping outside and closing the door behind him so their arguing doesn’t wake his parents. “I’m not fucking okay with it, Kiara! Of course I’m not! I wake up every day and I pray to God they’re still alive because I don’t know what I’d do if they’re actually, really, legitimately dead!” Now _he’s_ the one who’s mad. And the madness spills out of him like a wave, like inside him a dam has broken that had held the water back for too long. “I’m not fucking okay! It’s just—“ he shakes his head and sighs, trying to calm himself. “I’ve tried getting angry at things that hurt me before. I did that with the whole scholarship thing. And before you say anything— _yes_ I know it’s way different,” he says just as Kie opens her mouth to rebut him. “I’m not stupid. But I can’t—” Pope shrugs in defeat and sinks down to sit on the concrete front step. “I don’t have it in me, Kie,” he says, looking up at her with his elbows bracing on his knees. “I can’t do it. I don’t have anything left to give. I know it’s a cop out, but I just can’t. And I’m _sick_ of policing how people process their grief.”

Kie’s bottom lip wobbles when she replies, “So you just wanna leave him?”

“No,” Pope whispers. “I don’t want to leave him.” _I never want to leave him alone,_ he thinks. _I want him with me, with us, all the time. I just don’t know how to convince him that he should stay._

He pats the space on the step next to him. Kie accepts the offer and takes a seat, her legging-clad knees brushing his bare ones. She rests her head on his shoulder and sighs. 

“Let’s go find him,” Pope says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Kie’s temple. 

He feels the relief pour out of her when she hugs him and whispers, _“Okay.”_

* * *

JJ spends his last dollar bill on a Wendy’s soft serve. Ice cream for breakfast: because if he’s gonna do the runaway-kid thing, he’s gonna do it properly.

He sits on his bike in the restaurant parking lot and eats his late ‘breakfast’, thinking about how he’s spent way too much time at fast food places for a trip that was meant to be about ‘finding himself’ and ‘getting outside.’ 

Once he’s finished, he straps on his helmet and revs the engine on his bike, screeching out of the parking lot and down the empty street on a new mission to find a payphone.

It’s Saturday morning. He had another terrible sleep in a run-down motel on the southside of this town -- Albatross Bay, it’s apparently called -- and his phone’s battery died four days ago (he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to bring a charger when he’d left the Heywards on Monday morning). He’s all out of money now, too, save for the handful of quarters he’s got in his pocket. It’s time to go home.

And yes, the Outer Banks is home. With or without John B. Kie and Pope are his home, too. He belongs with them.

He knows that now. Maybe it shouldn’t have taken a week of getting lost to figure that out, but it had. And JJ’s glad for it.

JJ finds a payphone outside a Dollar Tree store that, from the faded lettering on the side of its brick exterior, looks like it used to be a Blockbuster. He leans his bike against the phone booth and steps inside.

With a deep breath, JJ pushes a couple of quarters into the coin slot and taps out a number he knows off by heart: Pope Heyward’s. 

(He knows Kie’s, too, but he decided last night that if he was gonna call one of them, it would have to be Pope. Kie would just _immediately_ fly off the handle at him, and that’s not something he wants to experience.)

As he listens to the connecting tone on the other end, JJ’s heart beats double-time in his chest. Why is he so fucking nervous?

The call clicks through. JJ sucks in a deep breath. A hot wave of fear mixed with longing flushes from his head to his toes. _Why is he so fucking nervous?_

Then Pope’s warm voice asks, “Hello?”

* * *

“Hey, Pope.” 

Immediately recognising JJ’s dejected-sounding voice, Pope swerves the car over the side of the road, thanking God that they hadn’t hit the interstate yet and could do so safely. _JJ!_ his heart shouts before his mouth can form the words. _You’re okay!_ Relief floods his stomach, his lungs, his veins. 

He’s okay. JJ’s okay.

Kie replies to JJ’s greeting before Pope gets a chance. “JJ?” she yells, leaning forward to get closer to the phone that’s attached to a stand on the dash, presumably so JJ can hear every word she’s saying loud and clear. “Is that you?”

JJ barely has time to murmur a, “Hey, Kie...” before Kiara is snatching the phone and shouting directly into the speaker.

“Fucking— why haven’t you _called_ us?” she demands, voice wobbly with rage. Pope watches her eyebrows furrow into two straight dark lines, seeing the colour rise to her tanned cheeks. He’s too shocked to hear JJ’s voice again that he can’t force himself to move to take his phone back. “You could have been fucking dead in a _ditch_ somewhere, JJ, we were so worried—“

“Kie, I’m fine. Really,” JJ soothes, his voice sounding more tired than Pope’s ever heard it. “My phone died, I had no electricity, I was out in the woods, whatever.”

“You really couldn’t call us all week, huh? But you conveniently found a payphone today? That doesn’t add up, JJ! You really made us worry about you _all fucking week_ when you could have just _\--”_

“I just needed time, Kie,” JJ interjects. “It’s cool.”

But Kie’s barrage cannot be stopped. Now, though, Pope notices the tears forming in her pretty dark eyes, and knows that if she keeps yelling like this, she’s going to start crying. “It’s not fucking _cool_ , JJ, we thought you— and after Sarah and John B we— “ And then her breath catches, and falls into a strangled sob, and her mouth twists up and her hands shake and she can’t speak any more.

Pope puts one hand on her thigh and another on the hand that holds the phone. Gently, he pries the device out of her grasp. “Kie. Let me take the phone,” he says softly. She gives in more easily that he had expected, letting the phone drop into his palm and tipping her head back against the headrest, wiping angrily at her eyes. Pope turns the speakerphone off and instead holds the phone up to his ear. “Hey, JJ.”

“Hey, Pope. I’m sorry,” JJ sighs, and it sounds like he really means it.

“It’s okay,” Pope replies, because he understands. He’s always understood. “She’s just— you know. She cares.” With his free hand, Pope reaches across the gearstick for Kie’s hand, which folds perfectly around his. He looks over at the girl beside him, who is staring out the window while worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, and thinks, _yeah, she might not admit it, but she cares._ “Where are you?”

“Just north of Albatross Bay.”

“That far?” Pope whistles. “Damn, JJ. That’s pretty far south.”

“I know,” JJ replies, apologetic. “I’m out of money. And gas.” He sounds embarrassed. Pope’s heart aches.

“Do you need us to come and get you?” Pope tentatively asks, even though he knows what the answer will be, even though he and Kie had left the Banks hours ago in search for this boy, ready for this exact situation to arise.

JJ clears his throat and the sound echoes down the line. “Yeah, uh, that would be good, I think. Where are you guys?”

“We’re just north of Jacksonville.”

“Oh, you’re already driving?” comes JJ’s stunned reply.

Pope shrugs even though JJ can’t see him. “We left early this morning to find you and took a punt that you’d gone south instead of north. Seems like we know you pretty well, huh?” Pope smiles.

He swears he can hear the smile in JJ’s voice when he replies, “Yeah, I guess you do.”

With a promise to meet up with JJ in a couple of hours, Pope hangs up.

“Where is he?” Kie asks, calmer than before. Her hand is still in his, even though it’s all slick with sweat because the AC in Pope’s dad’s old pick-up they’d borrowed this morning is broken.

“Two hours south of here,” Pope replies, turning the truck back on and peeling out onto the road. “I’m just glad he’s okay,” he adds.

Kie smiles despite herself. “Me too.”

* * *

JJ finds a park bench outside the Blockbuster-turned-Dollar-Tree to sit on and patiently wait for his friends to show up. The hours he spends sitting there, staring out at the traffic whizzing by, are not lonely hours, for now that he knows Pope and Kie are coming for him, he no longer feels alone.

When he sees the familiar sight of Mr Heyward’s old truck pull up in the parking lot, JJ’s heart swells with emotion. _They came for him._

He stands up to greet them and is about to start walking towards the car when the driver’s side door flies open and Pope comes hurtling towards him.

Before JJ can say a word, Pope’s arms are wrapping themselves around his shoulders, and Pope’s nose is tucking into JJ’s neck, his breath warm on JJ’s skin. 

Five heartbeats pass before Pope pulls back, wiping away at the tears that have gathered at the corners of his eyes. JJ doesn’t bother getting rid of his own, too filled with joy at seeing his best friend to disguise them. 

“You look like shit,” Pope croaks, then clears his throat.

“I’ve been living on the street for five days, man, what do you expect?” JJ jokes, grinning.

Pope opens his mouth to say something else when Kie appears beside him. She looks like she’s been crying, too, and JJ is hit with another wave of shame. He shouldn’t have left, should he? Not so soon after the disappearance of John B and Sarah. How cruel could he be?

“JJ...” she starts, and the way that her arms are crossed over her chest signify that she might start yelling at him again like she’d done on the phone. But she doesn’t. Instead, she steps forward and tugs him into a tight embrace.

JJ sighs into her touch, letting his head fall on her shoulder. 

“It’s good to see you,” she whispers. JJ nods his reply, too choked up to say anything without crying.

“You wanna go home?” Pope asks when Kie pulls away from the hug. 

JJ smiles. “Yes, please.”

Together, they buckle the dirt bike into the bed of the truck and shove JJ’s helmet into the back seat. Pope drives. Kie pays for their lunch when they stop to eat. JJ puts himself in charge of music, blasting Bob Marley all trip long because it always puts Kie in a good mood, and he’ll do anything to make her happy. 

“We’ll find them, J,” Kie says to him at a gas stop while Pope is out of the car. “I know they’re still alive. I just know it.” 

JJ just reaches out to squeeze her shoulder in thanks, unsure of what he could say that would be truthful. He wants so badly to believe that John B and Sarah are okay, but it’s hard. A week out in the wildnerness did not, unfortunately, undo all the grief that had been weighing him down for the past month. 

But at least he feels more at home now, in this car, with these two friends.

Later, when they finally pass the sign for the entrance to the Outer Banks, JJ says, “I should go home.” Although he is so grateful that Pope and Kie went out of their way to come and help him, he does not in any way want to overstay his welcome with the Heywards. Pope might be cool with him just leaving for a week, but Mr and Mrs Heyward most likely won’t be.

Kie’s reaction to JJ’s words is sharp and immediate. “To your dad’s? No fucking way, JJ.”

“Kie--”

“She’s right,” Pope says. “You’re not going back there. You’re coming back to my place.”

“But your parents...I don’t wanna intrude--”

“JJ,” Pope sighs, like he can’t believe he has to explain this. “My mom’s been up ‘til past midnight every evening worrying herself _sick_ about you. My dad’s been calling everyone he knows from here to Charleston, asking if they’d seen you. They want you home with us, J. You’re family.” Pope leaves a moment for that statement to settle in JJ’s gut. _Family. Home._ They want him around. For real. “Once we graduate next year, we can all move out and get a place together, if you want,” Pope adds. “But for now, you’re with us, okay?”

“Okay,” JJ softly replies. “Thank you.”

“You gotta start pulling your weight, though,” Pope jests, looking at JJ through the rearview mirror with a cheeky grin on his face. “No more wearing the same pair of socks for a week and a half and stinking out the whole house. You gotta do some laundry, man.”

JJ chuckles, although he still feels like crying. Fuck, he’s cried a lot this week. Thankfully, these tears that threaten to spill from his eyes are tears of gratefulness, not pain. “Ha. Laundry. Right. That seems simple enough.”

“You got it,” Pope finishes.

Kie turns around in her seat to look at him once more. “It’s good to have you back, J,” she says with a wide, geniune smile.

“It’s good to _be_ back,” JJ says. And means it.

Sometime soon, JJ will need to explain everything to them. About why he left, and how he's been feeling. It's too much to ask of them -- that they continue to forgive him for hurting them in these kinds of ways, even if they say they understand. 

But for now, this seems to be enough: driving past streets and store that are achingly familiar once again, feeling the warmth of the late-summer sun on his skin as it streams in through the car windows, listening to Pope and Kie's quiet conversation and feeling no need to join in but to just listen to the soft hum of their mingled voices and be grateful for his friends.

JJ is finally home where he belongs.

* * *

John B and Sarah, having finally made their way to a post office on the tiny Bahamian island where they had landed some days prior, write and post a letter back to the Banks. It would take six weeks to make it back to North Carolina.

 _We’re okay,_ it says. _We miss you guys. We’re sorry we couldn’t call._

_And we have the gold._

**Author's Note:**

> i made myself SAD !!!!! ugh. i just love the pogues and their love for one another sooo much. looking forward to more angst in season 2........i don't wanna think about how they (jj especially) are gonna react once realising john b and sarah are probably dead......FCKkkk!KK!
> 
> anyway come cry w me on tumblr @jjmaybank <3 i love u all thanks for reading!!


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